


Déjà vu

by Sharl



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Adopted Brother Steve and Bucky, Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-21 20:49:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12465676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharl/pseuds/Sharl
Summary: Without saying a word to anyone, he turned around and walked away. He needed some space and god knows how he would be able to stand through all the condolences and well wishes. Especially the one from Tony Stark.The man hated him after all.





	Déjà vu

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in my folder for quite a while, so glad I can post it now. And please note that I LOVE BUCKY, OKAY! My heart weeps for him as I write this.

_Even when you were given second chance, most of the times they were not what you had expected._

 

 

**Déjà vu**

 

**By: Sharl**

 

 

 

Steve stood in front of his step brother’s grave with little care to the things around him.

 

The afternoon was gray, bleak as heavy rain clouds looming over them. The funeral was somber. The priest was preaching with solemn tone and said the prayers in front of the equally solemn crowd. Black was the color of the day.

 

Some people held white roses in their hands, to be laid over the coffin and Steve held his in trembling hands.

 

Bucky was now dead and it was Steve’s fault. If only he didn’t insist that as his step brother, Bucky ought to come and support him for that idiotic art exhibition, the one where Steve’s paintings would be auctioned, then perhaps Bucky wouldn’t be in an accident. The huge container truck wouldn’t smash his car. Bucky would still be alive.

 

The sound of his mother’s sobs, along with other female relatives forced Steve to turn away his head and hid his own tears. He couldn’t let his parents see him cry, they were in enough burden as it was. Would they blame him though? Steve doubted that, since their parents were never one to blame anything to anyone.

 

The priest then said final words. Some of the mourners stepped forward to lay their roses and said their own prayers, a last respect for the dead. As the crowd moved, from the corner of his eyes, Steve saw a familiar figure that he used to know so well.

 

The figure of Tony Stark’s, a family friend and Steve’s ex-lover.

 

His heart gave a little pang at the sight of Tony, still as _rich_ as ever, but it was nothing compared to how Steve’s heart broke at the thought of Bucky. The sorrow was too great. The passing was too soon, and some of the guests told him that it would be better with time.

 

Steve doubted that too.

 

Without saying a word to anyone, he turned around and walked away. He needed some space and god knows how he would be able to stand through all the condolences and well wishes. Especially the one from Tony Stark.

 

The man hated him after all.

 

 

+++

 

 

The days passed slowly. Time crawled too at a snail's pace and much too slow for Steve’s taste, but it did pass.

 

His parents never blamed him in the end, saying repeatedly that he was the only son they got left and they loved him no matter what.

 

Steve had answered it all with a forced grateful smile, knowing the reason why his mother had those dark circles under her eyes was due to her grief. His step father too, always seemed tired and weary and it must be because he was doing two men’s job now. Without Bucky to help him with the law firm he now had to work twice as hard.

 

That fact made Steve regretted his choice a little. Rather than going into law school like his father and Bucky, he had foolishly chosen an art course, something useless and a waste of time.

 

It wasn’t always felt like that though. There was a time when drawing was his life, painting was his passion and the only thing he wanted to do in life. He had painted day and night, days and weeks just to get the right mix of colour, the right shade, and Bucky often teased him because of it.

 

_There wouldn’t be anymore teasing though,_ Steve thought bitterly.

 

A letter was addressed to him that arrived earlier that day. The gallery had called him two days ago and apparently he had managed to sell _three_ of his paintings. He now could become a real painter. But what’s the use of drawing and painting if they only reminded him of Bucky?

 

And so he had rejected it. He had hoped it would be the end of it, but instead they sent him a letter, requesting him to paint _more_ paintings and how people apparently loved them.

 

He didn’t want to reply the letter. Still, his answer hadn’t changed. How could it, when his passion became the death of his beloved brother? How could he be so selfish and uncaring that he would keep pursuing a stupid ambition?

 

They said that when people are vulnerable, they’ll believe a lot of things. If that was true, then Steve wished only for one thing, that he could come back in time and be with Bucky.

 

Little did he know, that his wish would come true the next day.

 

 

+++

 

 

It wasn’t the bright sunlight that usually penetrated his room that woke Steve up the next morning. Nor it was the typical sound of cars honking as they rushed their way through the morning traffic. Instead it was the soft rustling of sheets moving, the sound of heavy covers being thrown and light footsteps echoing on a carpeted floor.

 

A door was closed. From behind it, Steve could hear water running. Blearily he blinked and forced his heavy eyelids to open. What he saw next bewildered him.

 

He wasn’t in his room. His was decorated with cheerful color, he mixed them himself and painted the whole room; not pristine white and windows like this one. He didn’t have a huge flat screen TV in his room, and certainly his bed was not as big as this. The floor in his room was hardwood floor, not soft cream-colored carpet.

 

Where the hell was he? He didn’t go to a bar last night did he? And as far as he knew, he didn’t drink any alcoholic beverages, and that would explain the nonexistent pounding headache that usually marked hangovers, _so what the hell was happening_?

 

Wait.

 

As Steve contemplated and gazed at his surroundings, a feeling of dread trickled into him. The room was _not_ unfamiliar. There was something memorable; something that made Steve _somehow_ knew that he _had seen_ this room before.

 

“Good morning.”

 

Steve was startled. He turned around immediately, only to see Tony Stark, his ex-lover stood in the doorway, his hair was wet and he only had a towel wrapped around his waist.

 

Oh crap. Did they fuck last night? No wonder the room seemed so familiar. Steve had stayed, hell he practically _lived_ here once. How drunk was he that they would have sex again? But wait, Tony hated him. This Steve knew for sure. So why would the man fuck him when he wouldn’t even touch Steve?

 

The bed dipped and the next thing Steve knew, Tony’s face was in front of him. “Are you okay? You seem confused, love.”

 

_Love?_ Was he serious? Tony Stark hadn’t called him that for three years, three fucking years.

 

Calloused fingers that he once knew so well then brushed on his cheek lovingly, almost as if the gesture was done out of habit rather than anything else. Steve’s heart gave a little jump and he briefly wondered why _it just felt so right._

 

Like a déjà vu, but a good kind of déjà vu.

 

And then Steve wondered why it had felt so good.

 

“How about I ask Jarvis to get us some breakfast while you shower, okay? I’ll be in the kitchen.”

 

Tony gave him a quick peck on the lips and just like that, he got dressed and left. Steve could hear the sound of Tony asking Jarvis the butler to prepare Steve’s favorite breakfast: toast, eggs and bacon with freshly squeezed orange juice. Jarvis answered with a ‘very good, Sir,’ and how come he didn’t question why _Steve_ is there in Tony’s bedroom?

 

Steve still sat rigidly on the bed, everything seemed to move too fast and too weird. He felt dizzy and the room suddenly spun. Damn it. What did Tony say to him? Shower?

 

A shower sounded good. Maybe a hot bath would help Steve remember something and the whole thing would make sense again.

 

On his way to the bathroom though, something caught Steve’s eye. Tony had a digital alarm clock on the nightstand, and Steve recognized it as _his own digital clock;_ the same one he brought when he had lived with Tony.

 

But something else bothered him. He looked at the date. It read ‘August 6th, 2011’.

 

Steve blinked. And he blinked again.

 

Then a cold dread gripped his heart and suddenly everything made sense.

 

_Oh shit._ He had time-travelled. He now was in the past.

 

 

+++

 

 

Steve devoted his second chance at life with utmost dedication to his brother. The moment he had seen Bucky, Steve had the biggest smile on his face, the first one in many months. He had hugged Bucky so tightly that the other man was happily astonished (happily, because Bucky never got mad at him, even when Steve did the stupidest little things).

 

As days passed, Bucky immediately knew there was something oddly different with Steve, as Steve suddenly spent so much time with him, bringing him foods that he liked, insisting that they should spend more time together.

 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Bucky asked one day, his face was filled with a hint of suspicion but there was a twinkle in his eyes.

 

“Like what?” Steve replied as he immediately pretended to be busy looking at the many cakes displayed at the counter. He was searching for the one cake that Bucky liked the most: red velvet cake. He then heard the older brother chuckled, and from the corner of his eyes, Steve could see Bucky shook his head slightly.

 

“Never mind,” Bucky said as he ruffled Steve’s hair lovingly.

 

The gesture left Steve stunned, something that Bucky might not realize as he also looked at the cake displays.

 

It was such a brotherly affectionate action, one that was so simple, so effortless, so _precious_ and the fact that Bucky did it so naturally immediately brought tears to Steve’s eyes.

 

How he had missed that gesture.

 

Steve turned his head away so Bucky wouldn’t look at the tears rolling down his cheeks.

 

He vowed that he would make this right. Bucky was the most precious person for him and nothing will change that.

 

_God be damned._

 

 

+++

 

 

“Do I mean nothing to you? Are we really in relationship?”

 

Steve was not surprised when Tony confronted him few weeks later; he had hardly paid any attention to the man after all. All his free time (and he had plenty of them once he didn’t draw or paint) was spent with Bucky.

 

He had only seen Tony when he was already in bed. They didn’t have any dates anymore, even a simple dinner or a movie night in Tony’s penthouse. Steve felt a pang in his heart, but he knew how they would end up after all. Tony would be tired of him one day, that’s how they would end up, he knew it. Back then he was too busy with drawing and painting as the exhibition date grew nearer and nearer, and Tony left him as a result.

 

This time should be no different, except for the cause. This time it wasn’t because of him but Steve had no regret either way.

 

He had lost Bucky once. He wouldn’t lose him again.

 

Everything else be damned.

 

And so he tried to disregard the way his heart clenched painfully in his chest when Tony slammed the door.

 

_Bucky, Bucky, Bucky¸_ he chanted over and over again.

 

His brain was telling him that he was doing the right thing, so why did his heart tell him otherwise?

 

 

+++

 

 

When he got the message from Tony, he knew what it would be. It was their third anniversary and Tony invited him for dinner, an Italian bistro where they had their first date. Steve knew it was going to be the last straw that broke their relationship, just like it was back then when Steve was chosen as a last minute replacement for one of the artists from the gallery. He had to paint another painting as a result, and he had only three days to finish it.

 

Steve had chosen to paint back then and Tony had dumped him the day after.

 

And so when his phone vibrated bearing the same message, he knew it wouldn’t be any different. He wouldn’t go to the restaurant and Tony would dump him. Again.

 

He belatedly wondered would it hurt just as much as the first time.

 

Like everything else he had done in his second chance in life, Steve had chosen Bucky. They had promised to go shopping together to buy their mother a gift since it would be her birthday in few days. The minute Bucky had asked him, Steve had readily agreed, ignoring the pang in his heart when he remembered _it was their third anniversary._

Perhaps he was so lost in his guilt and it showed on his face, or maybe it was a weird brotherly bond or something (doesn’t matter that they are not really related), but Bucky knew something was up. They had just stepped into the jewelry store and Bucky asked him, “Okay, shoot out with it. What’s wrong?”

 

Steve tried to play dumb, but Bucky _just knew_ what he must be thinking because he said, “I will kill you brother. _Painfully_.”

 

He then ruffled Steve’s hair, emphasizing once again that ‘hey this is me and you can tell me anything.’ Suddenly the words flew out of his mouth before Steve could think.

 

The next thing he knew, Bucky had dragged him away from the shop. He didn’t speak at all, but the gripped on the steering wheel was tight and Steve realized that his brother was angry. They were nearly there when Bucky finally spoke with him again.

 

“You don’t have to spend every minute with me, you have your own life to live.”

 

_I have to!_ Steve wanted to scream, but his voice wouldn’t come out, _you have no idea what it felt like losing you and knowing it was my fault!_

“Tony is a treasure,” Bucky said with a small smile, “hold on to him.”

 

Steve turned in his passenger seat and he saw the familiar form of his boyfriend (is it still okay to call him that), just stepped out of the restaurant, an angry look on his face. He was already wearing his coat and seemed ready to leave. Tony’s Lamborghini was parked nearby and it was only few steps away before Tony got in it.

 

But then Bucky honked the car (successfully getting _everyone’s_ attention), rolled down the window and shouted. “My brother is an idiot. Take care of him.”

 

He unceremoniously and literally pushed Steve off the car, remembering just in time to unhinge his seatbelt. He drove off instantly, leaving Steve dumbfounded because _stupid Bucky_ intentionally left his coat in the car and it was freezing and it was _fucking snowing_ damn it and he was so damn cold.

 

Suddenly a thick coat was placed on him and a warm body, so familiar, _so comforting_ , hugged him.

 

“Come on,” he heard Tony’s voice, “it’s freezing out here.”

 

The voice was so warm, grumbling in the way that was just _so Tony_ , and suddenly Steve missed hearing it. Maybe because he hadn’t heard it for too long already.

 

He let Tony took his hand and led him back in to the restaurant.

 

His brain was screaming at him that he shouldn’t be there, he should be with Bucky and wasn’t it the very reason he came back in the past? To spend as many time as possible with Bucky?

 

_Just once, just this once,_ Steve tried to rationalize his mind.

 

Because for the first time since he got back, his heart was not filled with anxiety over losing Bucky, but a tingling pleasant warmth. And it was a feeling he didn’t want to lose.

 

 

+++

 

 

There was a post in their mail box, and Steve hid it before Tony saw what it was. If he did, he would ask the very question Steve had dreaded all the time: _you have been waiting for this exhibition for so long,_ _why are you not painting anymore? Something’s wrong, tell me about it._

 

He wasn’t ready. He doubted he will ever be ready. Besides most likely Tony would think he was a lunatic. Who had ever heard about turning back the time anyway? They only existed in books and fictions to most people.

 

So Steve crumpled the audition invitation, keeping in mind to shred it before tossing it away.

 

He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice, not when he finally had a chance to make things right.

 

Bucky would live. Steve would make sure of that.

 

 

+++

 

 

But he failed.

 

Few days after the day when Bucky was supposed to be dead, just when Steve thought it was finally _finally_ safe, that he was finally able to atone for his mistake, that he didn’t waste his second chance in vain, his mother called him in tears.

 

Bucky was still involved in accident. This time he was in a highway, on his way to a meeting out of town and as he was speeding up he hit another car.

 

 

+++

 

 

He was back at the funeral. The same scenery greeted him. The same solemn atmosphere, bleak heavy rain clouds, the priest; everything was same. Literally. Bucky was still dead. Steve still lost him. Everything was still _fucking_ same.

 

The sound of his mother’s sobs, along with other female relatives forced Steve to turn away his head and hid his own tears. He swallowed the bitter feeling in his heart.

 

From the corner of his eyes, Steve saw a familiar figure that he knew so well. The figure of Tony Stark, a family friend, and for a split second he felt everything felt like a fucking déjà vu, but suddenly it wasn’t, because this time Tony was looking at Steve.

 

And he walked over to him until they stood next to each other, facing Bucky’s grave.

 

Tony didn’t say anything, but he interlaced their fingers together, his way of saying _Be strong, I’m here._

 

A squeeze on his hand and Steve’s tears rolled out.

 

In the end, perhaps something had changed.

 

 

 

 

- **The End** -


End file.
